


The Quiet After

by ohcaptain



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Because Slade., But Clark's cute so it's okay...mostly, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Language, M/M, Slade Wilson does NOT appreciate being awake before 10 AM on such little sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcaptain/pseuds/ohcaptain
Summary: His insides are still a bit melty and warm, but he’s focused enough to watch in amusement as Slade pops what is really an egregiously large pile of eggs, cheese, and assorted diced vegetables into his mouth. He digs up a much more conservative bite for himself, watching as Slade hums appreciatively before going back in for more.“Good?”“Mm.”“Worth the early morning wake up then, right?”“Don’t fucking push it.”--Or, the one where Clark Kent makes Slade Wilson breakfast in bed because he's maybe a little bit head over heels in love.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Slade Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	The Quiet After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OkayAristotle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkayAristotle/gifts).



> For (and inspired by!) OkayAristotle who whined because "waaah nobody writes me clarkslade wah wah wah" or something to that effect.
> 
> You're a delight, sweetie, and I hope this at least makes you smile. <3  
> (Also please love yourself and go read everything she writes. Self care is important, my loves.)

“I. Will fucking shoot you.”

Clark puts the empty skillet back on the stove, the apartment around him silent now that the insistent scrape of the spatula against the bottom of the pan is gone. He waits a moment or two but no further threats or complaints are issued from the bedroom, and Clark can’t help but shake his head, amused. He knows he probably shouldn’t laugh when his life has just been very plainly threatened -- and in his own home, no less -- but he does all the same. Quietly though. Full of fondness but still under his breath because he’s not the only one in the house with better-than-human ears. 

It doesn’t work.

“Double tap for fucking laughing at me.”

He rearranges the tray on the counter to make room for the _entire_ coffee pot and their two mugs as clearly, a single cup just isn’t going to cut it this morning. He then picks it up and takes it back to the bedroom, having more trouble than he expected keeping everything steady. He opens the door to what, to anyone else, would appear to be an empty bed. But his messy, rumpled bedding is suspiciously uniform in shape, six-plus feet long and extending from near the very end of the mattress to up underneath his pillows. But the low, steady breaths and strong heartbeat he can hear from the doorway are what really give up the ghost. His grin is probably obvious in his voice when he speaks, but Clark isn't a bit concerned over it. He stopped caring what he telegraphed to this man a long time ago.

“If it would make you feel better to shoot me, babe, then go right ahead.” He settles delicately -- as delicately as a man his size can, anyway, which is to say not at all -- next to the unmoving lump to his left and ignores the shiver that shoots up his spine at the dark growl he can both hear and feel coming from under... an alarming number of pillows. Had… there even been that many when he left the bed an hour ago? He didn’t think he even owned that many.

“Wouldn’t fucking do anything but make more fucking noise and piss me off. No fucking point.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he agrees with an amused sigh. His voice has a very “Yes, dear, of course, dear” tone, and he knows it, has used it purposely and without any regret. Were this conversation taking place about four hours later in the day, he knows he would be getting an absolutely vicious and not at all adorable glare over it. As it stands now, he gets another growl that has him reaching over to stroke a hand down the length of the log taking up a good sixty percent of the bed. “There, there. Stop being grumpy. I come bearing gifts.” 

There’s an interested shift in the pile of blankets when he pours a cup of coffee and holds it out beside and just slightly behind him. He hears a long, deep sniff and smiles, not needing to look to know the mug will be snatched up well before he’s in any danger of spilling it. Clark takes a sip of his own coffee after pouring it one-handed, mentally patting himself on the back for adding a bit of creamer to his cup before bringing everything into the bedroom. He deserves a few points for that foresight, he thinks.

But still. There has yet to be any significant movement from the blanket pile beside him. 

“You know, I could’ve sworn my guy was in here,” he begins, taking another short sip of his coffee and placing the mug back on the tray, “but apparently there’s nothing in this bed with me but sheets. I guess I’m gonna have to eat all these eggs alone.”

Fingers curl around his own as the weight of the mug he’s been holding out is shifted from his hand, and there’s a rather fascinating bit of gymnastics happening as Clark turns his head to look behind him. With his arm outstretched and not a single drop of coffee spilled, Slade manages to extract his head from beneath the mountain of pillows, tuck his shoulder and turn himself onto his back, and then curl himself up to come to rest seated next to Clark. Without using his free hand which is, instead, reaching across the tray to pick up his fork. Watching the play of early morning sunlight over the muscles in Slade’s back and core as he maneuvers himself from prone on his belly to sitting up straight is… 

It’s a _lot_.

Wow, is it a lot.

Clark blinks away the minor stupor he’s fallen into and looks up in time to see the smug smirk on Slade’s face disappear behind his raised coffee cup. He glares, only a little bit embarrassed at being caught. It's mostly just for show.

“Shut up. Don’t say a word.”

Slade chuckles next to him, the sound deep as a well and still rough with sleep, and Clark feels he really can’t be blamed for needing to taste it. He leans over and slots his mouth over Slade’s, just barely clearing the lowering coffee mug, and a slow, warm wave rolls over his body as the vibrations tingle across his lips. That laugh feels as good rumbling over his mouth as it sounds burrowing in his ears, tastes even better paired with strong black coffee and reluctant fondness. It makes Clark whine, already desperate for more. Slade hums and sinks his teeth into Clark’s bottom lip, not gentle _at all_ , and. 

_God_ , he wants.

He groans in frustration that he can’t reach for Slade, the tray holding their breakfast already wobbling in his lap as he tries to press in even closer, feel even more. His mouth opens -- no choice, really, under Slade’s insistent tongue -- but before he can really sink into the kiss and let it take him apart, the sound of creaking wood stops them both.

“Careful, Blue, or you’ll break your quaint little breakfast tray,” Slade murmurs, dragging his lips back and forth over Clark’s own before pulling back to take another sip of his coffee and plunge his fork into the awaiting bowl of scrambled eggs. He shakes his head, muttering. “Like this is some kind of goddamn bed and breakfast inn. Ridiculous.”

It takes Clark’s brain a minute or three to solidify again and tell his hands to loosen their grip on the wooden tray, but he manages. His insides are still a bit melty and warm, but he’s focused enough to watch in amusement as Slade pops what is really an egregiously large pile of eggs, cheese, and assorted diced vegetables into his mouth. Clark digs up a much more conservative bite for himself, watching as Slade hums appreciatively before going back in for more.

“Good?”

“Mm.”

“Worth the early morning wake up then, right?”

“Don’t fucking push it.”

Clark throws his head back and laughs, so _goddamn happy_ to be in his home with this man and doing something so stupidly domestic as sharing coffee and a bowl of scrambled eggs in the morning. His whole chest is tight with it, like his heart has filled and filled and filled until it pressed through the spaces between his ribs and left no room for his lungs. It’s good that he doesn’t really need oxygen because he’s not sure he can actually breathe around it, this feeling. After spending so long certain he’d never feel anything like this again, it’s no surprise it leaves him shattered. But he’s so, so thankful for it.

When he sets himself back to rights -- and really, how has he had to do that so many times already this morning? -- he opens his eyes again and sees that Slade’s turned to face him more fully and is watching him closely. There may only be a single eye on him, but there’s no hiding from the near omniscience of that gaze, as sharp and quick as his mind and his tongue. It’s intense to be the focus of all that attention, like Slade’s reading every thought, fear, and dream he’s ever had like they’re written across his forehead; it makes Clark want to fidget in his spot to shake off the scrutiny, but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t want to hide. Not this, not from him. So he lets Slade look, and he looks right back. It’s… okay to now, to show him everything.

Slade’s eye drifts over his face, examining him, cataloging him almost. Clark reaches up before he realizes he’s done it, the tray and their food forgotten for the moment. He lets his hand curl around Slade’s cheek. Pulls his thumb across the bridge of his nose and over the thin, sensitive skin below his right eye. Over the scar that marks a face that was... probably _too_ perfect before it bisected the eyebrow and made a mess of the socket. The scar that reminds him every time he sees it that it’s a miracle he gets to look at this man at all. Clark’s pretty sure it was pure spite that saved Slade and brought him here because anyone else would’ve died after getting shot in the face.

Just another thing for Clark to be thankful for, he guesses.

Slade turns his head into Clark’s palm so slowly, his lips ghosting over the meat under his thumb softly enough that anyone else probably wouldn’t have felt it at all. The act is so tender, so, so soft, and it snatches the breath right out of his lungs. He doesn’t recognize that Slade’s moving towards him until those same lips are pressed just above the arch of his eyebrow.

Clark is almost tempted to put a hand to his chest to make sure he hasn’t actually melted or combusted because he feels a bit like he’s done both. 

“Your guy, huh? You claiming me, Kent?”

He’s expected to answer. Clark _knows_ he’s expected to answer, but Slade knows he’s just made a fucking wreck of him, stripped him bare and scrubbed him raw, so the man can wait while Clark composes himself yet again. 

And Slade stays the whole time, nose dragging through the bangs of Clark’s hair as he waits and it is really, _really_ not helping things.

But their conversation thus far plays in this brain, and Clark is able to pick up the thread Slade has tugged. They both ignore the emotion swimming in his voice when he replies. Clark knows how he feels, and Slade knows what he’s done to instigate it, so. No need to mention it aloud.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Hm.”

Slade kisses him again, once on the forehead and once on the lips, then pulls away, plucking the bowl of eggs off the tray and tucking in. Clark lets him, too full of warmth and awe and aching, crippling adoration to add eggs to the mix. So he sips his coffee instead, more for something to do besides stare besottedly at Slade than out of any real desire for it. After a few moments, he lets himself tip over sideways, dropping a kiss on Slade’s bare shoulder before settling his forehead there. Slade pauses long enough to let Clark get comfortable before he resumes eating. Peaceful silence settles over Clark for a handful of long, easy minutes before it’s broken by Slade, voice quiet but certain and clear.

“'M okay with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing my entire life, and this is the very first thing I'm posting here. I'm so nervous!
> 
> Thank you so much for stopping by and reading!


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